


oh baby you're three shots from hitting the floor

by alphadick



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fingering, M/M, PWP, Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top!Stiles, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 17:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphadick/pseuds/alphadick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has a plan, now legally allowed to drink in public at the ripe age of 21 he's at the Meat Bar hoping to score a hottie that'll let him plow their sweet ass to his liking. Derek just happens to be that someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh baby you're three shots from hitting the floor

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to just be a quick fic that I would post on tumblr but then it got away from me and became like 8 pages long...oh well. I'm quite obsessed with bottom!derek right now.

_Maybe one_ , is what Stiles is thinking after he downed that last shot, his head spinning in that deliciously intoxicating way that signals the start of a downfall. Down. Fall. Both words pertaining to a movement towards earth, a horizontal position. Stiles doesn't want to do either of them without someone's warm body under his own, preferably his, or his, or his, or his. He mentally pegs at least a handful of guys around him, imagining the glide of their bodies, how their legs would tangle together or how their mouths would clash in that awkward jarring first kiss.

"Are you done yet?" Scott half whispers, half shouts because the music is pumping out bass so loud it's rattling Stiles' innards. He likes it, feels one with the club, with the people dancing and grinding around him. "Y'know this is a gay bar?" His eyes are wide with the admonition, thinking that Stiles somehow led them to yet another gay bar after their first accident way back when they were still sophomores in high school. 

"Scott, Scotty, Scotty boy, we covered this. I mean it's called The Meat Bar, what did you expect?" Stiles can think what he expects, a quiet night with Allison where they watch horrible syfy movies and make out through most of them. Any other day and Stiles would be pumped for that, would love to third wheel it up and actually laugh and shovel down popcorn as B-movie actors run from swamp sharks and angry cannibals all night long. But not tonight. Tonight he'd called a favor, a repayment of sorts because Scott had asked Stiles oh so long ago to pave the way for him and Allison with sweet words and etc etc. Now it's time to collect. 

Officially, legally he turned 21 about a week ago Stiles had celebrated his birthday with the gang and gotten drunk off his ass for the first time in public  _ **public**_ , but this is different. Now he wants to get drunk and fuck. The Meat Bar is notorious for the hottest selections, the juiciest morsels and packages that Stiles just had to come. Stiles wants to suck a big juicy cock and fuck a plush ass until morning. A guy can hope at least.

Somehow asking Scott to be DD so that he can get some action sounded better to his sober brain and worse to his drunk one with each passing second. He really doesn't want Scott's judge-y eyes laser-beaming him in the head through the rearview mirror as he makes out with mr.whoever. Not that Scott's ever been mr judge-y, that was Jackson's territory.

He groans, trying to shake off the trivial thoughts and get back on track, "you promised." And the puppy dog eyes seem to get him, because Stiles has spent YEARS mastering the technique after Scott and Isaac seemed to have everyone wrapped around their fucking little finger with one look.

"Agh, fine, what's even your type? Do you have a type? I could speed this up for you." Scott glances around, eyes trailing over the many patrons of the club, hot sweaty man flesh gyrating in time with the beat and rubbing against other objects, against other people. 

"Uhhhh--" Stiles trails off, momentarily distracted by trying to describe his type, does he even have one? He can't seem to recall at the moment, all he sees is miles and miles of soft flesh laid out before him in bare torsos and fit jeans--okay maybe it's laid out in square feet, whatever. 

There. Stiles hones in, eyes trailing over a guy who looks frightfully out of place in the club, but ohsoright. His black henley is tight, almost too tight that it looks like with any movement it would rip right off his chest and Stiles has an urge, an urge to rip that very shirt off at some point this night. And that stubble, it makes Stiles want to wake up the next morning with stubble burn in all the best places.

He looks...uncomfortable, like the loud music and the musty atmosphere and the lack of personal space is seriously offending. Good, Stiles can work with that, it's an easy way to get him out of here—who's that? A pretty girl comes up on the guy's left, dangling a beer in front of his face before he snatches it out of her hand with a grimace. She's teasing him, leaning into his shoulder and whispering intimately into his ear like it's the most common thing...but?

"Fuckkkk." Stiles curses low and long, drawing the attention of Scott who follows his gaze.

"Who brings their date to a gay club?"

"A guy who doesn't want her to get hit on." Stiles offers, just as confused and more than mildly disappointed because that is something--correction someone--that he could definitely get up on. He glances over again, shock curling through him with satisfaction as he sees pale eyes meeting his from across the club. Okay, maybe it's not all a loss. "Or, they're just friends..." as if someone is benevolently smiling down upon Stiles the guy turns to the girl and says something quick to her before setting down his beer and getting up with an easy grace that momentarily forces the breath from Stiles' lungs. Okay, so maybe Stiles is more than interested, his dick giving an impressive jerk in his jeans control be damned. The guy doesn't turn, doesn't look away, stalks him like prey until they're mere inches apart, the edges of the guy's leather jacket brushing against Stiles' chest pleasantly. 

"Buy me a drink." Not a question or a hope, a demand because apparently they're both very interested in whatever's happening here.

"Friend, sister, beard?" Stiles fires off without thinking, offering his lonely leftover shot from the bar top.

"Sister, here with her girlfriend," Stiles looks over his shoulder and chokes a bit, the flame red hair so familiar he doesn't have to see her face to know.

"I guess we have a bit in common then." Stiles glance back with him, the brunette girl waves happily when she sees them looking and the guy groans before pushing forward to take the shot and downing it without even twitching. Stiles had coughed at least five times after the first one. With the rest he just made a face like all incredibly mature men would do.

"Do we?" The guy growls, the sound going straight through Stiles and melting his bones to jelly.

"Uh yeah, I know her girlfriend, like well."

"Lydia?"

"Yeah, old friend. Will you let me fuck you?" Stiles almost cannot believe that came out of his mouth. Sure, he's not the most tactful person, but he's not completely tactless. That came out of left field without any warning. Scott snorts from where he's standing sort of near him. They both glance over and Stiles sticks his tongue out, once again displaying the very mature man he has grown into.

"Derek."

"Uhhhhh, I don't speak that language," Stiles momentarily waffles, unsure as to whether he misheard or his brain is trying to trick him into thinking he heard what he wants to hear.

"It's my name," the man chuckles gruffly, face scrunching up into a brief smile as he looks down on Stiles. He brings their hips together, cock against cock and fuckkkkkk, Stiles has been waiting for this the whole night.

"Stiles, and I guess that's ye--" Stiles gets cut off by the traitorous sound of his voice breaking and Derek looks even more amused.

"Yes, that's a yes."

"Good, good, great, okay, yeah, I, uhm, yeah, god uh--" Scott just sighs and gestures towards the exit with a hand full of Jeep keys. 

"We can take my car?" Derek offers, looking towards Scott like he's made a sudden appearance or something.

"Uh, nah it's cool I think Scott wants to get out of here anyway, oh uh--no yeah okay, Scott you can go home buddy, I'll catch a ride with beefcake here." He tries to pat Scott on the shoulder but instead misses and slaps a pat or two against his friend's chest and forearm. 

"You sure?" Scott questions, eyes roving over Derek speculatively.

"Common', his sister's dating Lydia, that's gotta mean something."

"Okay...how much have you had to drink?" Scott gives that look, the look that says he'll hunt Derek down and kill him if his buddy doesn't return tomorrow safe and blessedly fucked out.

“Not even a full beer and that one shot, I’m sober,” Derek replies immediately, without replying Scott turns to go, somewhat relieved to leave the loud, sweaty club and return to the more quiet streets and home, where Allison's waiting in bed for him to curl around her. He waves over his shoulder in what Stiles can assume is a ‘good luck buddy’ sorta movement. At least Stiles assumes.

Stiles looks at Derek expectantly, the man suddenly frozen as he stares at Stiles' face for longer than the boy deems necessary. "I have all night, I do, honestly, but I want it to be a long night, longgggg, like multiple hours and orgasms and oh god, lots and lots of sex. So like, can you start moving that hulking form of hotness towards the exit or am I going to have to strip right here and now?" That gets Derek moving, a half snarl/half growl torn from his throat as he drags Stiles to his side and through the crowd. People melt out of their way, they're like a tidal wave, no one wants to brave that crash or dare the undertow. Stiles' distracted by Lydia grinning at him dangerously from the corner and he's seen that look before, known that look for so long he feels an involuntary shiver run down his spine and settle coldly in his gut.  _What?_  He wants to shout, ask her why she's got that devilish glint to her eyes. Is it Derek? Stiles glances up at the hulking mess of hotness and sure enough he's got this feral look to his eyes too, like this is all too right and they were meant to meet under these circumstances.

Then he's swept out into the back alley and there's distinct sounds of men coming together in both literal and figurative pairings, the sound of flesh slapping is enough to revive Stiles' erection and from the way Derek's now openly molding his hand to Stiles' ass, he must agree. "This way," Derek grunts, like that's all the words he can suddenly string together.  _Cool_ , Stiles can do caveman, he got his masters in caveman, minored in the art of sucking the very essence of someone out their dick...who's he kidding, he mastered in that too. He'll professionally sex you up and sex you down.

They veer off towards a small parking structure looming off in the darkness with warm yellow lights that cast shadows across Derek's rather defined features. Stiles plays games with those shadows that hint at the edge of the man's perfect cheekbones or his incredibly bushy eyebrows which nearly melt into the darkness of the night. Derek must feel him staring because he looks over with a half grin, wrapping his hand tighter around Stiles' waist. Pfff, as if Stiles is going anywhere but home with him. Ha. What a good joke.

"Woah, wait, that's your car?" Stiles stops dead, detangling himself from the rather superb heat that Derek's putting off like a furnace. 

"Yeah it's uh--"

"We're fucking in this, not the first time, but god damn, I'm gonna blow you in the backseat." Stiles' eyes are trained on the sleek lines of the black Camaro, but when he looks to Derek the man's gone slack jawed and wide eyed, like he's never been talked to like that before. Granted, he's a little intimidating and if Stiles weren't drunk right now he wouldn't have had the courage to say all those things, let alone stare Derek down in the club, but he is so...anyway, Derek must always be treated with kid gloves, or like he's expected to always be the dirty talker, the fucker not the fuckee. Stiles plans on changing that, many many times.

Derek quite literally pushes Stiles into the car, buckles him in because apparently Stiles isn't capable of doing it himself. Then he disappears for what seems to be only a second and is dropping heavily into the seat next to him with the next. "Uh," but Stiles' brain is way past time concepts and improbability so he'll let it slide. "Where to Der?" And the nickname seems to make the man flush, the red traveling down over his neck and Stiles wants to chase it with his mouth, his tongue, wants to leave marks that people will see for days, for a week. He catches himself fisting the material of Derek's shirt and pulling him in for a kiss that turns into bumped noses and fumbled apologies and light chuckles before Stiles steers them back on track and actually catches the man's lips more than just by accident.

"Fuck, Stiles, let me get us home, seriously, car later. Remember?" Derek's pulling away and Stiles wants to reconsider 'car later' who said that? Himself...he's drunk and shouldn't be taken seriously, honestly, these leather seats are just asking for both of them to be laid out naked and panting on them. 

"Drive, jesus Der drive." Stiles doesn't need to add that if Derek doesn't hurry up they will be doing it in the car and god knows that they probably won't make it into a bedroom after that. He’s almost 100% sure that neither of them want to stay cramped in the backseat of the car the whole night.

He drives really fast, so fast that Stiles doesn't even realize they've arrived somewhere until Derek's already at his door herding him out and up the steps of a delightful townhouse, "nice digs," Stiles manages to get out as he pushes Derek through the front door and slams it shut behind them. It's quick work pulling the shirt over Derek's head and stripping him of his pants.

"Commando, what a pleasant surprise..." Stiles murmurs, eyes drawn to the rather impressive erection rising from dark pubes and Stiles sighs because it is perfect, Derek is perfect, a perfect package. He takes a running start, bodily hitting Derek and letting him stumble back and fall in slow motion. Derek rolls them to lessen the impact. Stiles coming out on top, knees bracketing Derek where he has him on the floor. “Roll over,” and Stiles is prepared to start the speech, yada yada yada don’t worry I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, just trust me on this—but Derek’s turning no problem, offering his ass in the air for Stiles’ taking.

And he melts, fucking melts right there.

“Fuckkkkk,” Stiles groans, rubbing his palms over the fleshy mounds of Derek’s perfect fucking ass. Fucking perfect ass. He nips the left cheek, sucks until there’s a dark purple mark in the flesh that will stay for a week and Derek will remember him for at least that long, hopefully longer. His mouth trails over, leaving licks and nips in its wake. When he reaches Derek’s crack he nearly loses it, the man’s shuddering deliciously beneath him, like a rim job is the most perfect thing in the world at the moment—

“Wait, have you never been rimmed?” and it’d just flashed in Stiles’ mind that this might be the first time and shit man. His dick wants to explode at this point.

“—yeah…” and it’s quiet but firm, like the fact displeases him but he’s not embarrassed about it, and Stiles is going to fix that right away. Step one, rid Derek of this pesky lack of rimming. Every gay man needs a good rimming at the VERY LEAST once in his life, and a specimen as fine as Derek deserves Stiles’ talented tongue performing the task.

“Oh man, rimming is awesome, but don’t take my word for it,” Stiles dives in, tongue tracing a hot, wet track down Derek’s crack and over the pulsing hole. The man under him shudders, thighs quaking where they touch Stiles’ chest and arms. He soothes the man with a caress down his spine, over his hips and up his thighs. It just makes Derek shiver more but Stiles is sure it’s from pleasure. He works the tip of his tongue into the hot tight channel that is Derek’s entrance and groans when the man spasms against him. Derek’s reaction is bodily, his arms giving out and causing him to jerk forward suddenly but he compensates by pushing his hips back and trying to spear himself on Stiles’ tongue like he lives for this. He starts moaning, tiny little things that get lost in half breaths and pants of desperation. Stiles works his tongue around, loosening Derek up and getting him into a writhing mess on the wooden floor of the entryway. He wants Derek to lose some of the tightly reined control he’d had at the club, the strict posture he’d adopted. Under him, under his hand and his tongue Derek’s just seeking the pleasure and Stiles is happy to give it. “That’s it babe, let go, let go just for me,” Stiles lets his tongue swirl around the man’s asshole, dipping down to lave some attention on Derek’s balls. He traces his fingers lightly over Derek’s erection, just enough to earn him a hoarse moan but not much more. The touch is too fleeting for Derek’s like, but Stiles rectifies that by sucking on his middle finger and letting it slowly sink into Derek’s wet entrance. He’s surprisingly relaxed, body enjoying the intrusion of Stiles’ finger and wanting more.

“Stiles—“ he pants, forehead resting against the cool floor that’s really doing nothing for the heat radiating off him. “More. Harder, _please_ ,” a rare word it seems because it takes Derek a lot to say it, literally expelling the word from his body like a wave of pleasure, his thighs quaking with it, body giving in. Stiles pushes harder with his finger, in and out, in and out, Derek breathing in time with his thrusts. Stiles slicks up another finger and squeezes it in beside the other, blissfully overjoyed when Derek huffs into the floor. He pulls almost the whole way out and thrusts back in, pegging Derek’s prostate from the looks of it, the man going bow-backed on the floor and whining unintelligibly. Stiles wraps a few fingers around the base of his own dick and squeezes in hopes that it will keep him from jizzing just from the sound of Derek losing it.

“I’m gonna assume this is the first time anyone besides a trained physician has ever touched your prostate,” Stiles jokes, mouthing over the skin of Derek’s butt cheek, he gives a few half hearted bites and then works his way back to lick where his fingers are sunk into Derek’s warm heat.

“You’d be right,” Derek gasps, pushing his hips back onto Stiles’ waiting fingers with all new vigor.

With Derek’s admission Stiles feels his dick twitch, his body all but yearning to sink into Derek’s tight heat, “then just call me Dr. Stilinski.” The man shivers under him, goose bumps rising along his skin and coming to meet Stiles’ tongue, which is still flicking each individual hickey that he’s left on the man’s ass.

“You gonna fuck me soon doc?”

Stiles has never been more glad for sober-him planning for exactly this moment with a condom and foil of lube stuffed in his pocket. The small victories are the sweetest Stiles thinks. Derek’s a shivering mess on the floor, cock arching back towards his bellybutton with how hard he is. Stiles wants to blow him…later, right now his dick’s gonna burst if he doesn’t get it into the man’s sweet ass in the next second. He fumbles slightly with the condom; nearly tossing it across the room when the package starts to slip out of his fingers. Derek ruts his hips back against Stiles’ pelvis and he’s pretty sure he almost faints because god damn how is this Derek’s first time getting fucked? His cock is lined up with Derek’s crack, giving them both a brief moment of pleasure from the friction, but Stiles knows they both want more. He gets the condom on, strokes his length a few times with some lube and then lines up with Derek’s entrance teasing the man with the slight pressure against his perineum.

“ _Stiles_ , _please._ ” Uttered so sweetly that Stiles feels his own body give a shiver of pleasure to match Derek’s. They move together, Derek pushing back as Stiles thrusts forward, only just reining in the force because he’s worried since it’s Derek’s first time. The man under him groans, a deep sound that resonates from within him and seems to travel up his dick. He’s still sliding in and Derek’s just taking every inch of it, his hole sucking Stiles in like his dick is meant to be there. His pelvis notches into Derek’s, fitting like two puzzle pieces as Stiles slowly grinds against Derek’s ass. The man’s coming apart under him, utter filth coming out of his mouth as he very nearly begs for Stiles to get a move on, _faster harder faster harder_ he nearly chants.

And who is Stiles to say no? He grazes Derek’s prostate on the stroke out, gets the pretty little moan/whine from the man and comes back for seconds/thirds/twelfths. Derek’s the prettiest lay he’s ever had, probably ever will have, and Stiles is thanking his lucky stars that he’d gone to the club tonight. Stiles wants it to last forever, the mind numbing pleasure, the sweet sound of their skin slapping, the tickle of Derek’s leg hair as Stiles ruts against him, all of it. He wants to live in a constant state of sex with this man, forget the rest of the world and live right here in his personal version of heaven.

Derek’s got some unintelligible grumbling/growling/panting jargon going on into the floor and Stiles soaks up every delightful second of it. He runs his hands over Derek’s body, admires the stark juts to him and the planes of his body. Stiles tweaks a nipple, grabs a handful of Derek’s hair and pulls just to watch the full body shiver Derek gives to the sensation. His pupils are blown wide with pleasure and his mouth is open seductively with red rosy spit-slicked lips just eager for the taking.

 _It’s not going to last_ , Stiles thinks sadly, brow damp with sweat and hair flattened across it. He’s planning on reaching for Derek’s dick to help him along because Stiles is almost done but Derek suddenly flings his hips back and impales himself on Stiles’ erection with a quaking jittery sigh. His passage clamps deliciously around Stiles’ dick as the man orgasms without even touching himself, the milky fluid striping the floor under him. Stiles runs soothing hands over Derek’s flesh, stroking him a few times as he comes down from his orgasm enjoying Derek’s bodily reaction as he’s wrung dry.

He’s still shivering lightly when Stiles picks his rhythm up again, short/fast/hard to work himself towards completion. Derek’s pushing back, eyes peeking over his shoulder at Stiles who’s unable to decide whether to look at where the two of them are joined or Derek’s face which is still blown with pleasure. He takes to looking at Derek and stroking around the man’s perineum, an action that causes him to clamp down once again and Stiles is gone. He doubles over, blanketing Derek’s back and shoving his face into the man’s neck so that his lips are mouthing over the skin there.

It takes him a few minutes of whited-out pleasure to come back and realize Derek’s grinding slowly against him, wiggling his ass against Stiles’ pelvis tantalizingly. Stiles shivers, too sensitive but he’ll be damned if he’s pulling out right away.

They roll over to their sides, Stiles spooning against Derek’s back and letting their heart rates settle back to a more normal level. Derek feels so loose and relaxed now, the tense line of his shoulders having released the stiffness that Stiles had originally seen there. His hair’s plastered to his forehead but Stiles thinks he looks gorgeous with the just fucked out look and the slight grin, as if he knows Stiles is staring.

“Well Doc, when can I schedule my next appointment?” Derek jokes, turning his head to capture Stiles’ lips with his own.

“In a few hours I’m free…”

||

EPILOUGUE:

“Always with you and the kinky werewolf sex,” Derek teases, tramping through the woods just behind Stiles who looks determined to find the clearing he’d stumbled upon before.

“Sorry my boyfriend decided to just drop the subject on me one night when I’m balls deep in him. Nearly scared the shit out of me when you’d grown massive sideburns in literally seconds. Now every time you shift I think about sex.” Stiles doesn’t need to look back to know that Derek’s trying to not laugh, it’d been a funny story afterwards, but at the time Stiles hadn’t been sure whether to stop or to kick up the pace. There was always something so vulnerable yet dangerous about Derek; he guesses this explains the look Lydia gave him all those months ago in the club when he’d first met Derek.

“You try not shifting when your boyfriend’s fucking the living daylights out of you.” Derek challenges even thought Stiles doesn’t want the bite anywhere in the near future.

“Well I plan on getting the living daylights fucked out of me, so we can at least start there,” Stiles smirks over his shoulder, completely missing the feral grin on Derek’s face as the man launches himself at the unsuspecting human. They tumble through the brush, Derek shielding Stiles with his body until they land in the center of the very clearing Stiles had been looking for.

“Is that a dare Stilinski?”

“Double- _dog_ -dare.”

Derek rolls his eyes, extremely used to the constant werewolf jokes that Stiles seemed to fit into every conversation with such ease. Stiles is laughing at Derek until the man rips a claw up Stiles’ shirt—“WOAH, Derek! That was my favorite shirt!!! Derek! De—“ the werewolf in question silences him with a hungry kiss.


End file.
